


Beginning of the End

by Aishiterusan



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Art, BIG emphasis on Family in this one, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, Marriage, Miscarriage, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aishiterusan/pseuds/Aishiterusan
Summary: Rogue's memories of the last 11 years of her life have been erased after an accident with one of the students at the Xavier Institute. Strangely enough, she now has complete control of her powers. No more voices. No more gloves.Much has changed in the last 11 years, though. Rogue, now 28, is happily married and a teacher at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. Effectively 17 again, Rogue must piece back together her life since meeting the X-Men as well as Logan. Not everything fits together, though.(Wolverine's NOT the amnesiac for once. He actually remembers everything in this universe)(Also PS: art included b/c I love drawing my favs)





	Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! As the summary goes Rogue can't really remember anything after hitching a ride with Logan. Some of those feelings she once had for him begin to blossom anew in this unsavory situation. Of course, there's also the fact that Rogue is/was happily married before the accident. Probably not the best situation for anyone but I'm a firm believer in happy endings, so...
> 
> ALSO! Family. Family's gonna be big in this one, literally and figuratively. 
> 
> Just a heads up, the timeline/universe is incredibly skewed for this story. I've basically just picked and chosen certain elements from the movies and the comics that I liked. I'll put a full rundown at the end, however. You can skip to it, though there might be spoilers in it. 
> 
> And Thanks for Reading!

                                                   

 

Beginning of the End

 

Prologue:

 

The words swarming in her head grow louder as tears begin to buzz on her skin. A thick rage has erupted and unsettled everything, _everyone_. It’s a cacophony of misery and a viscous hatred that smells like molasses; like the perfume on her neck.

 

It’s painted on her face and pouring from her eyes. All those words flashing, red-hot on her skin like brands.

 

 _Silly_ settles on her left breast, right beside her heart.

 

_Silly girl, you’re getting worked up over nothing._

 

A phantom hand slithers around her thigh and squeezes in the shape of _Pointless._

 

_It’s pointless to keep going on like this...Doing things neither of us is cut out to do._

 

 _Mommy_ brands itself on her forehead, slinking around her temples.

 

_Mommy. Love. Need. Give. Borrow. Take. Steal. Take. Nothing. Nothing. Stupid Girl. Take. Take. Take Take Taketaketake take take taketakek_

 

The voices snuff out the light of day with their incessant chatter. It’s a chorus of stolen lives all summoned to action.

 

_Sink_

 

Sink to the bottom and have the water drown all the sounds of struggle. The steady lull of the incoming tide quiets everyone. Their voices disappear in a flurry of swamp sludge.

 

Thinking made easy.

 

If only she had been thinking when she made the appointment. Early morning appointments weren’t like bitter pills she could swallow and forget. They’d sag on her skin for the rest of the day, pulling taut things that shouldn’t be pulled.

 

At least she had been spared the embarrassment of rushing out into a crowd of curious students. It would have been jarring for them to see a faculty member openly crying in the hallway.

 

She should’ve just canceled the appointment altogether.

 

Chapter 1

 

He often felt like a circus monkey, paraded out to showcase the training power of his handlers. _See, look how tame he is!_

 

Come, see how tame old Logan has gotten. He won’t bite. No, he’s been fully domesticated.

 

He sits, quiet and still.

 

The animal in him weeps blood from its mouth as Logan eats his anger. _His anger._ That all-encompassing rage that had driven every drop of civility out. There’s nothing to do now but stuff it back inside. Shove it down.

 

It felt like gouging out an organ. Like white, hot pain.  Like the deep pinch in his knuckles as his claws threatened to pop the skin.

 

It felt like swallowing his fist and scratching the inside of his throat till he wretched up his heart.

 

He would rather feel that knowable, quantifiable pain than sit idle one more goddamn minute. But he was tame. A prized monkey that could be rolled out when needed.

 

So he ate his anger in foundering mouthfuls.

 

He had spent enough of his life waiting that he should know how to do it by now.

 

So he’ll wait for her to open those heavy-lidded eyes.

 

\-----------------

 

“It’s been hard for everyone, Logan. Not just you.”

 

The signal fades in and out, like an old transistor radio.

 

“All I wanna know is where—” _sssshhhhhkkkk_ “—you’ve been nothin’ bu—”

 

Some channels are better than others. _Something familiar though._

 

“How long she been like dis?”

 

_Don’t much care for this channel._

 

“—catatonic state—”

_Ssshhhhkkkk_

 

“Well, tell me when you do know something, bub.”

 

_There, that’s a nice station._

 

“Hey, listen, kid. I know you’re in there. Just gotta sleep things off like a bad hangover. I know you’ve had a few of those, now.”

 

“How about we got out for a drink when you decide to wake up. Won’t be able to have any more of those before long.”

 

_Sssshhhkktttt kssshhhh_

 

“Not been right without you, chère. You got… me sometin’ awful.”

 

The static returns, but there’s nothing there. It’s silence. Sweet, unbidden silence.

 

\-----------------

 

The lights are a bit too much. White noise accompanies them. She squints and blocks the rest with her fingers. There’s a glint of silver on her left hand.

 

Blurry figures have crowded around her. _Like the specters of death,_ she thinks solemnly.

 

“Rogue!” It’s a distraught sound, edged with excitement and concern. It’s a sound she hasn’t learned to associate with _him_ yet.

 

“Logan,” Rogue answers with a frenzied, frayed voice. The sound is sharp and hollow. Her throat is so dry and her head feels overweight.

 

Someone snakes their hand around hers and squeezes. She jerks instinctually.

 

“It all right, chère. I’m right here. You all right here, Anna.”

 

She pries her eyes open to take a pained, blurry look around the room. Faces like mosaics with vaguely familiar features.

 

Marie looks in the direction of Logan. She knew him before she knew him. He was… _cage fighter… mutant… good…_

 

“Do you know where you are?” The blue mass at the end of her bed speaks in an easy, measured tone.

 

She stares blankly back at him.

 

“You’re at the school, Rogue. You were in an accident concerning one of the students.” He parts the sea of people to move closer to her. He takes the place of the other man, taking her hand and asking her, “Squeeze if you understand me, Rogue.”

 

Limp squeeze. She feels as though she’s on the precipice of death. Looking over the edge and spinning with the heady sensation of vertigo. Hangover. Feels like the worst hangover of her life.

 

The whole room breathes a sigh of relief as Marie struggles to breathe.

 

“We are all so happy to see you up and at them, Rogue!” It’s a happy, deeply accented, feminine voice.

 

The room feels terribly crowded. Someone’s about to say something else, but Marie speaks first.

 

“Can I go back to sleep, please.” The words are lazily enunciated and haphazardly strung together, but they make it to sentence form all right.

 

“Of course, of course,” is murmured.

 

“All right, give the kid some room,” echoes Logan.

 

She closes her eyes. The light peeks in from under her eyelids as she listens to Logan continue.

 

“That means you too, swamp rat.”

 

\-----------------

 

She wakes cleaner, clearer, and crisper. Her eyes open with a bit of apprehension, but the light doesn’t bother too much. It’s late.

 

Shifting, she sits up in bed. She’s in an infirmary. _The infirmary._

 

Logan is slumped into a chair by her bedside, arms rigid and crossed. He’s sleeping.

 

Her eyes can’t focus and she brings her hand to her face. There’s a sharp crackle of static in the back of her head. The silence remains. It’s a comforting force in her mind.

_We’re alone again…_

 

Her hand drops from her face. She strains her ears to hear the inaudible, to sense what has never not been there.

 

Her study is interrupted when someone enters. Blue and big. Blurry. _Too masculine to be her_.

 

“It’s good to see you, Rogue.” He nears her bedside. Coming into focus. All those tiny little hairs. “Feeling better I hope. Rest is best, my mother always said.”

 

His smile is calm and reassuring. A memory tickles the back of her head. Then nothing.

 

He shines a light in her face, apologizing over protocol. “Just have to cover all our bases. Follow my flashlight with your eyes, please.”

 

She does so and he snaps the light off, slipping it back into his pocket.

 

“Can you tell me your name?”

 

Pause

 

“Rogue.”

 

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

 

“Three.”

 

“Do you know where you are?”

 

Another pause as her eyes dart around the facility.

 

“The hospital?”

 

He chuckles hesitantly, intention wavering. “No, not quite. You’re at the school, Rogue.”

 

“I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, sugar.”

 

“That’s quite all right. You were involved in an accident two days ago.”

 

_Car accident? The snowy road. Cold. Logan?_

 

“I understand. You must be quite disoriented. Do you know who I am?”

 

There’s a moment of indecision before she finally shakes her head. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.” She looks at her hands. “Been more trouble than I’m worth, I’m sure.” Her accent rolls hard on the words. Like a return to form.

 

“No, no no, not at all.” He’s sincere, terribly sincere.

 

Rogue feels the blood rushing to her cheeks. She didn’t mean to cause offense, though she was sure he would deny that too.

 

He stands tall above her. “You’ve been unconscious for quite some time. Some confusion is to be expected. See if you can’t sleep it off by the time morning comes. I’ll be back then to check in with you again.”

 

He looks even more massive now that he’s standing by the door. Everything appears dwarfed in relation to him. “Though, if there’s anything you need, don’t be afraid to call. I’ll be there in the tick of a clock.”

 

And now he’s gone. _And we’re alone again…_

 

Marie twists her head to peer at him from her pillow. Her eyes stroll over his edges and curves, all of it coming back into focus. He appears more coiled and taut. All tense with latent strength. He’s worn himself into age.

 

“You just gonna keep staring or are you gonna tell me how pretty I am, darlin’?” He says, head still bowed.

 

“Logan, why are we here?”

 

“Better to ask Kurt than me when it comes to that stuff.” He’s stretching now. No telling how long he’s really been up.

 

“No!” Her urgency snaps him out of it. “I mean what happened to you!? I saw you—” _ssssshhhhhkkkk_

 

“What? What is it, kid?”

 

“Logan, where are we? Did something happen?” She clasps her hand to her head. “I don’t remember.” The static grows, eclipsing those small snatches of memories. She tries to listen to them, hear them over the swelling ocean but it’s all drowned out. Washed away and pulled down the mighty Mississippi.

 

\-----------------

 

It’s morning and it’s all the same. They stand outside discussing her, dissecting her mind with words. She wished they could cut into her skull and let all the water pour out. There’s nothing in there but empty space now.

 

Everything — gone. Like a town after a flood. Everything good and decent has already been carried away. All that’s left are empty, limping structures and bodies. Storms have a sneaky way of dredging up the dead; people and memories alike.

 

But floods — floods whisk it all away and leave only empty houses and empty lives behind.

 

\-----------------

 

“So you sayin’ she better off now than what she was before all dis?”.

 

Logan rolls his eyes.

 

“Not necessarily, but she does appear to have finally gained the ability to regulate her powers herself. She no longer requires an inhibitor to make skin-to-skin contact,” Hank amends.

 

Logan waits for the catch. Everyone knows it, but they’re just waiting for Hank to get on with it.

 

“God, it’s times like these that I wish Professor X was still around,” Logan hears Jean whisper in a hushed sigh. He looks back to Hank.

 

“The shock delivered to her system when the inhibitor malfunctioned must have affected her memory. I’m almost certain the development in her powers is a byproduct of her amnesia.” Hank scratches at his chin, glasses sliding down farther on his face. “The Professor always theorized that her inability to control her powers stemmed from her own mental blocks. With those gone, she can function like any other normal person.”

 

“But she ain’t a normal person, bub,” Logan cuts in. “She’s had about two dozen voices stuck in her head for the last decade. Ain’t nothin’ normal about her, especially not now that she’s lost ‘em.”

 

Remy steps out from the crowd and moves up as well, cutting his eyes at Logan and then to Hank. “Jus’ go on with what you was sayin’ bout her memories before. She got these last few years shocked outta her or what?”

 

Hank clears his throat. “Well, it would appear that her last clear memories are from before she came to live here at the mansion. With time, she’ll likely make a full recovery. But,” he gives a generous pause, “There’s no telling if her powers will remain manageable after she makes her recovery.”

 

\-----------------

 

She takes to breakfasting with an awkward eagerness. Her drowsiness replaced by hunger as the morning wears on.

 

“Try not to get choked,” Logan remarks, watching her, “be a real shame to have brought you back only to lose you to a pancake you swallowed whole.”

 

A true Mississippi debutante would never showcase such an unruly appetite in front of polite company. But Marie was no debutante, and Logan certainly wouldn’t be considered “polite company” by anyone but a pack of rabid wolves.

 

“Let me take a look at that mirror again, sugar.” She holds out an open palm.

 

“Pretty sure nothing’s changed in the last five minutes, but be my guest.” He hands her the mirror.

 

The furball had introduced Marie to her reflection earlier this morning. The intention was to lure out any latent memories. It was only her vanity that bubbled to the surface, however.

 

Stranger still, instead of lamenting the observable and unobservable differences in her appearance, Marie seemed to take comfort in poring over her reflection.

 

Eyes still locked on her own visage, she says,“Tell me again about the hair.” It’s no longer the origin story of an especially queer characteristic, but a fairytale meant to quell her curiosity.

 

It might as well be a fairytale, with embellished edges and over-inflated egos abound, thought Logan. He once knew the story perfectly, having lived it and then read about it a dozen times over. Logan supposed he still knew the theme, though the subtleties would forever be lost to him, at least until a bullet or a malicious telepath rearranged the memories in his head again.

 

“Statue of Liberty, magnet boy, radiation machine, white streak. Happy, kid?” He’s had to have told her the story at least ten times now. Just firing off the key elements seemed appropriate given the circumstances.

 

He runs his fingers over his scarred knuckles. “If nothin’s clickin’ by now, there ain’t really a point in running it into the ground now is there,” he exhales sharply.

 

“No, I wanna hear the story from the beginning.” She empties what must amount to a pint of syrup onto her plate. “Take it from the top, sugar!”

 

There’s a charming twang to her voice, bringing back memories of the years before he grew inexplicably old and she inexplicably older. With her head a revolving door of personalities, it’s no wonder that she lost a bit of herself along the way. But now, for once, she’s completely herself; the self Logan feels he has the best handle on.

 

“Where do you want to start, then? When the annoying, reckless teenager decided to hitch a ride offa the wrong guy?” He breaks as she begins to giggle, perhaps a bit too girlishly. “Or maybe when said rebellious teenager decided to run away...again.”

 

He watches as her face is offset by a wide, guffawing grin. He supposes she looks a little different from the girl he met eleven years ago. She was a woman now, though that was sometimes obscured by her willful personality. Still, there was no vast, night and day difference to him. A decade felt insufficiently long to turn her into an adult.

 

“How about we start with you gettin’ thrown like a rag doll outta the front windshield of your truck,” she supplants, taking a savory bite of her sugar saturated breakfast.

 

He concedes to that. “All right. Let’s take it from there then, sweetheart.”

 

\-----------------

 

Standing, walking, moving, she feels more alive. Her lethargy left her during the mid-afternoon heat.

 

She watches the sun from her borrowed clothes and her borrowed life. There’s a slight familiarity to everything as if it had all been ripped from a half-forgotten dream. But most of the memories remain borrowed; told second-hand by people who had already made themselves familiar.

 

The new acquaintances — who were actually old friends —  had led her around the mansion. Marie pretended to remember her old room, dancing around words to make a vague recollection something more.

 

She could tell that her new old friends were dancing too. Mincing words and telling only the most terribly appropriate things. Marie supposed that they were just as afraid to end this honeymoon period as she was.

 

_Let it linger on a bit longer. Just enough to enjoy it._

 

Some anonymous memories bite at the back of her head. They plead for attention, plead for her to _try_ to remember, to unravel the mystery of their painful existence. But ignorance is bliss and it could stretch on for a few more days.

 

She sits and enjoys this languid afternoon. Children are cycled through the courtyard between their lessons, always chaperoned by another adult — always someone Marie feels she almost knows. Like an itch on her skin, a tickle on her tongue. She can never quite place them.

 

Marie finds herself surprisingly relaxed around the children. Some approach, carefully, leery of her and her condition. They’ve been told about the accident, that something’s happened to Miss Rogue. There’s a sense of something else, as well. They take just a bit too much precaution when making childish conversation. She feels just a bit too fragile in their care. There’s a topic — aside from the obvious — that they’re eager to avoid.

 

The strangest thing of all, though, is how normal everything feels. There’s an idle narration in her head, taking note of every bizarre appearance and curious happening. But nothing appears especially surprising. Marie suspects that her drowsy, drugged-out arrival into this strange new world may have helped her transition. There certainly isn’t any better way to immediately accept that your doctor is a blue gorilla.

 

Marie is snapped out of her lazy reflection when Ororo approaches. Marie remembers her name mostly because of how it rolls off the tongue like marbles.

 

Ororo stands with a child by her side, softly squeezing the little one’s shoulder. It’s a maternal display of support that winds Marie’s heart.

 

“This is Nicole,” Ororo introduces, giving the girl a slight push. “It is all right, sweetie.”

 

Marie traces the girl with her eyes, roving over every frill and edge. She’s really quite young, though that might be the misplaced fear in her face. Her eyes look only slightly puffy, as if they might always be in such a weepy state.

 

Marie takes in the elbow length white gloves last.

 

_Remind you of anyone?_

 

Nicole turns inward toward Ororo, searching for comfort and protection in her arms. Marie flushes. She must have stared at the girl too long. It wasn’t the girl’s fault.

 

Marie fumbles with her words in an effort to allay the situation.

 

“Oh, no, sugar! Please don’t cry. It’s all right, really! I’m sorry for scarin’ ya. I din’t mean to if I did!” Marie reaches for but doesn’t touch the child. She crouches, with her hands raised in an ineffectual attempt at comfort.

 

“I’m sorry,” Marie repeats, now looking up at Ororo. She’s somewhat unarmed by Ororo’s pure smile.

 

“No, it is not your fault. Nicole is just a little sensitive after everything,” Ororo speaks evenly as she pets Nicole’s head. “She wanted to apologize to you for what happened.”

 

“Oh, there ain’t nothin’ to apologize _for_ , sugar.” Marie places a tentative hand on the small girl’s shoulder.

 

The girl comes around just a little. Ororo continues to stroke her.

 

“You see, Nicole causes any machine she touches to malfunction. This is what occurred when she came into contact with the power-inhibitor bracelet you were wearing the day you…” Ororo’s soft eyes sweep down to Nicole. “...had your accident.”

 

Marie stares at the girl again. She sighs and squeezes Nicole’s shoulder. “That ain’t your fault, honey-bun! Wasn’t but a silly little accident!”

 

Marie is taken by surprise when Nicole turns and wraps her arms around her. It feels like Nicole’s clinging to her for dear life. Marie relaxes into the embrace, soon enough, and takes the little girl into her arms completely. Marie murmurs little pet names as she rubs her back.

 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you, Miss Rogue! I didn’t mean to do it!”

 

Marie feels the girl’s wet, hot tears soak into her sweatshirt. She pulls her back to look into her red, bleary eyes.

 

“Oh, stop that, sugar. You din’t do it on purpose, now did ya?”

 

A vehement shake of the head.

 

She hugs her tight to her, relishing the feeling. “Well, it ain’t your fault, now is it?!”

 

Marie can’t remember the last time she held someone so close. It’s a cozy feeling to hold someone so unabashedly close. It’s also a cozy feeling to feel so warmly loved. Marie could commit to this sort of treatment.

 

\-----------------

 

“Haven’t been back like this in an age, mon ami.” The words roll out in a slow drawl as Remy knocks back another drink.

 

Logan cuts his eyes at him. Remy has his head resting on the glossy wood of the counter-top. “What, you get your 30-day chip or something?” He blows an acrid cloud of smoke into the thick, bar-room air. Helped keep the smell of desperation and mediocre sex out of his face.

 

Remy raises his head, a few cracked peanut shells shifting in his hair. “Non. I don’ go roder no more.” He shakes his head. “No more dan I hafta, a least.”

 

Logan eyes Remy before taking a swig of his whiskey. Remy was a sloppy drunk, though Logan supposed that had more to do with circumstance than tolerance. Remy _wanted_ to be knock-out drunk, slurring his words and misplacing his memories. An overwhelming sense of numbness was his goal, one Logan was all too familiar with.

 

“Jus’ ain fair what she been through. We both start out rough, down low. An’ jus’ when we start to gettin’ somewhere, some’in always get in de way.” Remy twists his mouth into a straight, distraught line. That taut line tells the story of his marriage.

 

Logan chews on the smoke and remnants of whiskey in his mouth. “If you wanna get into the business of fair, go somewhere else. Hell, go be a different person. Nothin’s ever been fair for people like us. Don’t see why that’d change now.”

 

“D’accord.” Remy’s voice rings with a clarity Logan had thought he lost many hours (and many rounds) ago. “Few weeks ago, I woulda done any’ting ta make things de least bit better for her.” He casts a hollow stare as he reaches for another bottle. “Worst t’ing I ever felt. I woulda took it all for her, but it don’ work like dat, do it? Non M’sieur. Guess it really is all relative, den.”

 

Logan lets the heavy silence linger over both of them like a bad spirit. Still, Logan finds silence to be more comforting than empty words. Stronger medicines would be needed, though.

 

“Startin’ off fresh wouldn’t be so bad, then.” A new start for everyone. Logan had come out the back end of such a situation once or twice. “With a bit of practice, ya might even get to make a good first impression on someone for once.”

 

“You think this a joke or some’in? Ain’t very funny to me.” He speaks with a crisp anger, effectively raising his hackles.

 

“Some memories ain’t worth rememberin’.” He drowns his palate in whiskey one last time. “You know that well as I do.”

 

“You don’ know thing one ‘bout me ‘n Anna Marie.” Remy hefts himself to his feet, dragging his legs in an awkward, limp motion. He leans on the bar, nails biting into the cleft wood. “She my best friend,” he says damply,  the back of his hand pressed high against his nose. He makes another wet sound like he’s choking while Logan stands and pays.

 

\-----------------

 

“Can’t sleep either, huh?”

 

He hadn’t expected her to be there. He stills for a moment before proceeding with taking off his jacket.

 

Jean continues, “Where’s LeBeau? He hasn’t said boo to a goose since she woke up. I thought he’d be over the moon and they’d be halfway to their second honeymoon by now.”

 

Logan plops himself down on a steel chair. The observation room always felt invariably cold.

 

“He’s back home, drunk off his ass and feeling sorry for himself.”

 

A hint of a smirk flashes across her face. “And how would you know?”

 

“I put him there. Shouldn’t ever let a man drink alone, but he sure as hell doesn’t need my help to cry himself to sleep.”

 

Jean glances at the clock. She snorts. “A pub crawl.” Smiling, she shakes her head. “Well, he certainly deserves it.”

 

Logan doesn’t let the silence hang for long. “How was she today? Anything?”

 

“Kitty and some of the others showed her around. I spoke with her a bit. It’s hard to tell right now, but I think she’ll come around… eventually.” Jean perks herself up. “She seems to be taking things quite well, though.”

 

Logan grounds his head around as if the news has put a strain on his neck. There’s a growl stuck in his throat.

 

“She should be ready to go by tomorrow,” Jean quickly adds. “We just need to observe her tonight to make sure nothing unexpected happens. So far so good.”

 

“You tell her yet?”

 

Jean straightens her head. “No. We’ve been trying not to overwhelm her.” She hears Logan make a noise. “It’s not like we’ve been intentionally hiding it from her, though.”

 

“You’re right. Not like she needs to know right now.” Logan stands and goes to the plate glass window, observing Marie from afar.

 

Jean glances up from her notes to catch Logan. “You can go sit with her if you’d like.”

 

\-----------------

 

She blinks the sleep from her eyes in the early morning. One blink to see. One blink to focus. One blink to recognize.

 

He’s there again. Awake, looking at his hands. He runs his calloused fingers over his calloused knuckles.

 

She shifts to sit up. He stills.

 

“Still hurt?” Her eyes are on his hands.

 

He pauses, then raises his head heavily. “Yeah… Yeah, still does.”

 

“Every time,” she finishes. She runs her hands over her legs, over the thin sheet that covers them. “I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?”  He looks insulted.

 

“All this. Everything.” She gestures vaguely. “You been lookin’ out for me since I got here. Everyone has. But… You been here with me…”

 

“I think the words you’re lookin’ for are ‘Thank you,’ kid.”

 

“Thank you, for staying with me.” She smooths the sheets again. “But, you don’t have ta, now do ya, sugar?” She smiles.

 

“No, but you knew that already, didn’t you, darlin’.”

 

“I’m not sure what I know anymore.” She shakes her head, smiling. “Just don’t want you goin’ around thinkin’ that I need my hand held through the night.”

 

“No offense, kid, but I ain’t about to go takin’ chances with you right about now.”

 

She chuckles and draws her legs up to her chest. “Seems like everyone’s sentiments right now. I’m starting to wonder if I even wanna know why.”

 

Logan grunts and nods, letting the silence hang simple and low.

 

Marie leans into herself, still grasping her knees. “I met the little girl today. The one that… did this.” She waits for his wordless acknowledgment. “Well, it weren’t her fault. Not anyone’s… But I guess accidents like that happen a whole damn lot around here. At least, from what I’ve heard.”

 

“Can’t remember a time when they didn’t. Like jumping from one fucking mess to the next.” Bitterness seeps into his voice.

 

Marie draws back. “Ain’t so bad, from what I’ve seen. Had a good time, even if it felt like I was the only one not in on the joke sometimes.”

 

Logan exhales sharply, one brow quirked. “Yeah. Guess amnesia does that to you. You’ll get a hang of it sometime, kid.”

 

“Can you—”

 

“Oh, here we fucking go again.” It’s said more lightheartedly than crossly.

 

“No, no, no!” Marie protests, giggling with a splitting grin. “I want you to tell me about my husband… About Remy.” She says it almost unsurely as if it was his name she was forgetting.

 

“I’m gonna need a drink.”

 

“You still owe me one, too.”

 

\-----------------

 

“When I said you still owed me a drink, this _ain’t_ what I had in mind _._ ”

 

“It’s five in the morning.” He takes a swig of his coffee. “Not sure what you were expectin’, sweetheart.”

 

“Ya make it sound like ice cream for breakfast is any less trashy.” Marie sucks down another gulp of her strawberry malt.

 

A bemused expression flits across his face. “Better than kickin’ the day off with a shot of tequila. Gets pretty old after a certain point.” He eyes her and her ill-fitting, Xavier Institute loungewear. “And you’re a good one to be talkin’ about trashy, darlin’.”

 

Her mouth pulls into a quick grin as she shoves against him with her shoulder. The countertop seat squeaks beneath her.

 

“Takes one to know one, cagefighter,” Marie taunts. The satisfaction is cut short by the arrival of their waitress, who graciously hands Marie her food. Mumbled greetings and tight smiles are exchanged.

 

“I wanna know about the wedding, now. Tell me about the wedding,” Marie continues before starting in on her plate. “Who walked me down the aisle?”

 

Logan huffs out a beleaguered sigh. “God, you’ve got your food. Can it with the questions for a while, kid.” She looks at him. Another sigh. “Look, I wasn’t there. I have no idea who did what at your wedding. Don’t even know if the groom even showed up or not.”

 

Marie holds her gaze but soon finds it ineffective. She turns back to her breakfast, doing her best not to look disappointed. She takes a few bites.

 

“Was it like a Las Vegas drive-thru wedding or somethin’, then?”

 

Logan chuckles. “Or something, I guess.” He’s still smiling as he knocks back more coffee. The smile is infectious. “Wasn’t planned, that’s for damn sure.”

 

“Guess I’m just spontaneous like that. Always have been, always will be.” She beams back as she takes a rather generous sip of her malt.

 

“You and swamp boy both.” He scratches the back of his neck, a glimmer of sincerity shining through. “You two deserve each other.”

 

Marie feels the color creep into her cheeks. “And what about him, then?” She keeps her head low. “What do you think of him?”

 

Logan groans like an ancient church organ. “Just spent all night talkin’ _with_ him, don’t much care to talk _about_ him anymore.”

 

Her chest tightens. It’s a peculiar sensation, especially so since she’s not quite sure of the cause. She swallows.

 

“How _is_ he?”

 

He looks at her and then finishes off his coffee. “‘Bout as good as someone like him knows how to be.”

 

“He seems sweet. I just…” she looks to him as if he had the answers written on his eyes. “I just don’t know him. I don’t know anyone, really. No one ‘cept for you and even then…Even then, I didn’t invite you to my own wedding.” Her face holds a hesitant smile.

 

“Guess you’re just gonna hafta start bein’ nicer to me then, sweetheart.”

 

“Yep.” She nods, a small giggle ensuing. “Why don’t I start by takin’ ya out for that drink you said you were wantin’ earlier.”

 

“No one in their right mind would let you _in_ a bar, let alone take you out to one.”

 

“I already checked. I’m 28. Perfectly legal.”

 

“That ain’t the problem.”

 

\-----------------

 

Bathing was an ethereal experience. It was as cleansing as it was confusing. Her skin felt electric under the steady pulse of the showerhead. Everything was simply abuzz with energy.

 

The act of washing almost felt daring. Smothering her skin with soap and suds, then clearing it all away. Her skin felt strange, mysterious in a way. Marie discovered a few faded scars over the course of her bathing.

 

_This body… it’s not yours._

 

Dressing herself in borrowed clothes didn’t make things any better.

 

Most of the novelty had already worn off by the time she met with Hank. He had wanted to speak to her. She had assumed about her health as well as her release.

 

They started off with all the pleasantries of idle conversation, but Hank soon dove into what it was they were really there to discuss.

 

“You appear to be in perfect condition, your powers included. As for your memories, I don’t believe there’s any reason for them not to return.” He repositions his glasses on his face. “Eventually, at least.”

 

Marie nods. Her right-hand balls itself into a tight, white-knuckled fist.

 

“There’s something else, though, Marie. I feel it’s my duty as your physician to tell you.” He leans forward onto his forearms. “The morning of your accident, you had an appointment with me. A few weeks ago, you suffered a miscarriage. You weren’t far along, but…” Marie can sense his unease. Her eyes remain on her lap which holds her balled fists.

 

“Well, there was the fear that your powers might have affected the pregnancy. There’s no way of knowing, as a multitude of other factors could have played in as well. Still, we did some tests just to make sure. Your appointment was to discuss the results.” He slides her a manilla folder.

 

Marie eyes it and then looks back to him. “If it’s all the same to you, I don’t think I want to see.”

 

“Of course, of course.” He raises his hands in a flimsy motion. “Though I feel you should know that nothing came back abnormal.”

 

Marie nods.

 

“I truly am sorry. This must be quite overwhelming after everything. But I felt you should know, seeing as it concerns your health.”

 

“No, it’s fine, sugar. I’m fine. I’m just glad it wasn’t anythin’ more serious.”

 

\-----------------

 

Logan can hear them from outside the door. He catches snatches of the conversation.

 

“—with everything she’s been through, you really don’t think—”

 

“—I’ve seen how you all treat her — she can sense that we’re not telling her—”

 

Logan enters, his presence halting the argument. His eyes rove from Jean to Hank, then back to Jean as she makes fumes out the door.

 

“You do something, furball?”

 

Hank takes his seat. “I did indeed.”

 

“Well, I ain’t gonna beat it out of you.”

 

“I informed Rogue of her past pregnancy. Apparently, Jean was intentionally holding off on telling her about it.”

 

“Damn.” He says it like he’s hurt himself. “Why the hell would you do a thing like that?”

 

Hank levels his gaze. “She deserves to know if it directly affects her body.”

 

Logan’s glowers, frustration beginning to seethe beneath the surface.

 

“Logan.” Hank’s voice flows like a lazy river. “You aren’t doing her any favors by withholding information from her.”

 

\-----------------

 

Marie finds little solace in her reappropriated room. No intimate knowledge has laid itself bare to her. The walls have not spoken a word. There has been no flood of memories.

 

She supposes she’s better off now. That dull itch at the back of her mind as stopped. There’s no longer anything to dance around. Marie can’t say she saw the issue in the first place.

 

Her own life feels so far removed from herself that it’s hard to imagine she ever faced such adversity. She supposes she can feel it. Just a painless ache somewhere she cannot feel. A memory she wishes she could forget and now has.

 

At least whatever brought about that bad memory is gone… if it was her uncontrollable powers that did it anyway. The funny twist of fate brings a wry smile to her lips.

 

A knock brings her eye to the open door. He stands poised in the doorway, knuckle inches away from the frame as if he might need to knock again. She supposes she looks posed as well, sitting on the bed surrounding by open picture albums.

 

“How ya holdin’ up, chère?”

 

He really is rather striking. More so than she remembers from their previous, flaccid encounters. She had felt half-dead when they were first introduced.

 

“Still above the ground, I s’ppose.”

 

He clicks his tongue. “I’d say you a lil’ more than that, ma colombe.” He approaches with feline grace. She notices the bag he’s toting. “Brought ya a few things I thought you might be wantin’.” He sets the bag down by the bed.

 

“Thank ya. I appreciate it.” His lingering gaze induces her to blush. Like with everything else, she’s forgotten how to act. “I’m sorry.”

 

“What you got to be sorry ‘bout, Rogue?” He sounds sympathetically agitated.

 

“I...I...To be honest, I ain’t really sure.” She chuckles, twiddling her thumbs. “Just felt like apologizin’. This can’t be easy for you, Remy.”

 

He reaches out with a curious hand, removing a rogue strange of hair from her face. The action alights her skin. She raises her head.

 

“It ain’ easy on anyone, Rogue. But nothin’s ever been easy for us.” His lips stretch into a languid smile. If there’s sadness to it, Marie doesn’t notice. “You been nothin’ but trouble for me since I first met you.”

 

The quote’s pulled from a place of affection. She can already tell he’s the kind of man you lose sleep over.

 

His hand pursues a place on her cheek. Her hand jerks to catch his wrist, an instinctual motion. It’s her bare palm that contacts his skin.

 

A thrum of electricity beats through her pores, connecting and colliding with him. The small jolt of connection causes her to wrench her hand back.

 

“I didn’t mea—” She begins.

 

Remy’s eager voice interrupts. “Non, c’est— It’s nice. I like it, Rogue.” He looks giddy, like a shock of delight has ripped through his body. “C’est électrique.”

 

She settles back. “Don’t know why that happened. Thought I was s’pposed to be in control of my powers, now.” She feels herself radiating heat. “It was the only good thing that came outta all this,” she says, rising to her feet. She holds herself, containing herself so not to cause harm.

 

Strangely enough, he reaches out to her again, taking her hand in his. A thick shiver runs across the surface of her skin when he kisses her open palm. She can almost see the thin bands of energy straining between them as he brings her hand to his face.

 

“Like a frisson d’excitation?” Her thumb runs over the stubbled surface of his cheek. “Haven’t felt dis in an age. Not since Paraiso, no?” He parts her hand from his face, bringing it back down and releasing it.

 

He laughs, running his fingers across his mouth as if to hide the tender smile. “Sorry. Didn't mean to start reminiscing on ya, chère. We just got some good memories outta that spark.” He steps back. “Some worth rememberin’, a least.”

 

“Maybe you can tell me ‘bout it sometime.”

 

Remy raises a brow, another wry grin forming on his face. “Ain’ quite suitable for a schoolhouse,” he motions to the doorway with an upturned thumb. “Though I’d love to tell you some place else. Maybe over candlelight dinner. Make you fall in love with me all over again.”

 

She feels silly in the face of his charm. She makes an effort to avoid his eyes, flitting to the corner and the ground, mouth puckering to one side as she sucks in a cheek. Stronger medicines are needed, though.

 

Her eyes stray back to him, as does her full attention. “You talk like a romantic but look like a heartbreaker, sugar.”

 

“If anyone’s de heartbreaker, it’s you, chère.” He steps closer. “You done broke my heart too many times to count. But what can I say? Was love at first sight.”

 

“Somehow, I’m havin’ a hard time believin’ that,” she laughs benignly.

 

“Don’t worry now, mon coeur. I got every intention of makin’ a true believer outta you. Ain’ goin’ anywhere til you remember just what a great husband I make.”

 

“ _That,_ ” she points a finger at his chest, “I _can_ believe.” He was as charming as she had been led to believe. He knew his way around words more than he led on. But there was a genuine dedication to him that put her mind in a frenzy.

 

“Once I get stuck on somethin’, there ain’ no way of gettin’ rid of me. An’ ma petite, you better believe I’m stuck on you.”

 

Her chest grows tight with a reserved warmth.

 

_Devil in a Sunday hat mean anything to you?_

 

“Blegh! What are you guys, on your second honeymoon or something?!”

 

Marie tears her eyes away from Remy to catch Jubilee bounding into the room. She hops onto the bed, jouncing all the albums as she crashes down.

 

“Y’know children go here, right? Like, schoolchildren?” Jubilee remarks while lazily flipping through a picture album.

 

“Yeah, I’m talkin’ to one o’ ‘em right now, ‘n fact.” Remy stands with his arms crossed, a smirk painted across his face.

 

“Just making sure, Big G. Wouldn’t want anything else unseemly happenin’ on campus!” Jubilee’s lazy flipping has evolved into an almost fervent searching. “Here it is!” she proclaims, finger pressed against the sought after photograph.

 

Marie scoots into an open space on the bed. Remy is content to lean over the open album.

 

“Where it all went wrong.” Jubilee shakes her head.

 

The photo depicts a happily posed Marie and Remy. Marie can hardly recognize herself.

 

“I wore _that? Out?”_ She points at the spotted crop top she sports in the picture. She can hardly imagine it.

 

“I remember those Daisy Dukes,” Remy reminisces fondly.

 

“You remember that rat tail, though?” Jubilee moves her nail to Remy’s ponytail. She turns to look at Marie. “This is where it all went wrong, Rogue. The beginning of the end.”

 

Remy places his hand on his chin. “Well, if I remember correctly, dis was actually de second attempt.” Marie looks up to Remy. “Though, I suppose you can call really just call it our first date, ma chere.”

 

“Like I said, Rogue, the beginning of the end.”

 

\-----------------

 

 

Author's Note:

 

So this is Skunk, a Wolverine/Rogue love child. She will be the new protagonist and carry on her father's legacy. Thank you guys.

 

(Lmao just felt like drawing a fankid and when this glorious came to me I couldn't refuse)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Hoped you like the story. Reviews and kudos are always appreciated! I'll do my best to update semi-regularly. Anyway, here's the basic rundown of what has happened in this universe:
> 
> -Rogue ran away from home after being chased by a mob and met Mystique  
> -Mystique and Destiny raised Rogue until she was 17 when she ran away again  
> -Rogue ends up in a bar on her way to Alaska and meets Logan  
> -She manages to hitch a ride with him  
> -Events basically follow the first and second movie except with the addition of Gambit  
> -The timeline is rewritten by Days of Future Past  
> -Xavier dies and Kitty takes over  
> -Rogue and Gambit become an item...then don't...then do again...Rinse and Repeat until Paraiso island (Basically the recent Rogue & Gambit run)  
> -Rogue and Gambit get married on the stop and steal Kitty's wedding (X-Men Gold issue 30)  
> -Rogue and Gambit have their honeymoon adventures (Mr. and Mrs. X)  
> -Rogue and Gambit have are happily married and are permanent faculty members at the Xavier Institute
> 
> And that's the gist of it! I've basically chosen to sort of follow the Movies' lead while trying to preserve personal relationships developed in the comics. Ex. Mystique as Rogue's mom, Kurt and Rogue as siblings, Rogue and Gambit. 
> 
> Sorry for any errors in my writing. I'd honestly love to have a beta but here's my work hot off the presses!


End file.
